


Voir

by HouseofTheBear



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Erotica, F/M, Kinktober 2018, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 15:19:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16478018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseofTheBear/pseuds/HouseofTheBear
Summary: Jorah willingly fulfills Daenerys' fantasy. But he has one of his own.





	Voir

**Author's Note:**

> Well, readers, I decided to participate in Kinktober. It's my first time (groan...did I just write that?!) so bear with me. This is little work is extremely kinky, more so (I think) than anything I've written before. It's voyeuristic in a way (you'll see if you read it) and if that sort of thing bothers you or you start to read it and find that it's not something you want to read, don't. No pressure. You have been warned. 
> 
> One last note, this was supposed to be a chapter in my other work "Blurring The Lines", but I decided it was too racy for it. It can be read as a stand-alone, all you need to know is that they are on their anniversary vacation.
> 
> Enjoy!

“I feel boneless.”

                Daenerys let out a long sigh, her body totally relaxed against Jorah’s side. He made a sound low in his throat in agreement, the hand resting on her hip occasionally drawing lazy nonsense patterns there. The warmth of the sun made them both drowsy, the light soft through the sheer white drapes that enclosed the porch of their island cottage. He heard her yawn, “Take a nap, love.”

                “I’m not sleepy,” she mumbled.

                “If I am, you must be too. It’s what holidays are for, being lazy.”

                He didn’t hear another sound from her after that, save for her even breathing. He gave in too; their couples massage session had succeeded in making him feel like he was floating on a cloud, a gigantic fluffy one that was quickly carrying him off to dreamland.

                He awoke a while later to Daenerys’ soft whimpers, her lower body grinding against him. _That must be some dream_ , he reasoned, his hand caressing over her back to her bottom, where he gripped the swell of her, gently aiding her movements against his thigh. All of the sudden, she stopped and he was greeted by a pair of wide eyes, any trace of sleep long gone. He arched his eyebrow at her, “That was quite a dream you were having there, love. Care to tell me about it?”

                She pressed her face into his chest, “No.”

                Her response may have been muffled, but he heard the embarrassment loud and clear.

                “Sweetheart, there’s no need to be shy about it. You’ve shared some very erotic fantasies with me before, this is no different.”

                She lifted her head and fixed him with skeptical eyes, “Oh no, this is indeed _very_ different.”

                The backs of his fingers were soft against her cheek, “Nothing you suggest we do together would be wrong or weird or whatever you think it might be.”

                She exhaled slowly, he was right. Every time she had shared some desire with him, he had done it with her. He was the most open-minded man she had ever known when it came to sex, so why should this time be any different? “I want to watch you touch yourself.”

                The words came out in a rush and she braced for his refusal; that this time she had gone too far somehow. A wicked grin spread across his face, “Let me see if I understand this right: you want to watch _me_ touch myself and you think for some reason that I wouldn’t want to do that for you?”

                His eyebrows arched expectantly, and she realized that compared to some of her other fantasies, it wasn’t all that out there. “Well, I mean, that’s usually something guys do in the shower and it doesn’t last very long… _right_?”

                He laughed. “Well, yes, it can be very utilitarian. I suspect that you spend longer doing it than a man would.”

                “Sometimes. If I’m really turned on, it can be over very quickly. But you’re right; taking my time makes it infinitely better.”

                He groaned. “All I can see in my mind now is you laid out on our bed, your hand between your legs, slowly bringing yourself to orgasm.” Flashing her a smile, Jorah answered her request, “I’d love to do that for you.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, “But I have a fantasy too, love. I want to watch _you_ touch yourself.”

                She had hoped he would agree to this as much as she had hoped he would ask her to join him. The residual desire from her dream was still coursing through her and she didn’t want to take care of it without him. She bit her lip and sat up, untying the belt that secured her short robe, letting it slip from her body as she stood by the chaise lounge. His cock throbbed at the sight of her splendidly naked body. He stroked himself through the thin cotton pants he had worn after their massage and she was unable to look away, his hand moving leisurely over the prominent bulge. She licked her lips, her body eagerly responding to the sight, her sex flush with wet heat. He stood and undid the simple tie closure that held the pants low on his waist, letting them pool at his feet. She stared at his cock, and despite the fact that she had seen it a myriad other times, this was different somehow. It wasn’t just that either, it was his whole body that made her thighs press together. The slight tan on his skin made the definition of his lean muscles more noticeable, as if he had been formed by a master sculptor. She watched the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the fine springy golden threads of his chest hair catching in the shafts of light that managed to peek through the gaps in the sheer drapes. But it was his eyes; the playful heat she saw in them chased away any residual shyness that may have been left behind.

                She lay on the chaise, watching desire swirl in his blue orbs as she stretched her body for him. “Kneel down right here.”

                She spread her legs and pointed to space between them. The furniture was wide enough for him to kneel with his own legs spread somewhat.     

                Once Jorah was settled, he stroked his length once in a light grasp, her wide eyes watching the clear fluid bead at the tip, his fingers collecting and drawing it down over the head and shaft. His lips parted and he exhaled sharply. Gripping himself at the base, he took a deep steadying breath.

Her left hand went between her legs and he closed his eyes for a moment at the wanton sight of her parting her folds with her index and middle fingers, making her clit easier for him to see, and no doubt, for her to touch. The lips of her sex were as rosy as the ones on her face, but these were covered with her nectar. “Gods, love, do you always do that when you pleasure yourself?”

“Yes,” she whispered; her other hand cupping and kneading her breast, her fingers plucking teasingly at her nipple, hardening it further. That hand then trailed slowly down over her belly and the curve of her inner thigh before dipping to her entrance to gather her slickness and draw it up to her swollen clit. Her gasp gave way to a soft moan as she circled it just once.

“I was right; you do look so very naughty with your hands between your legs.”

She bit her lip and smiled, her eyes hooded with desire, his hand beginning to stroke his length slowly.

“Tell me, love,” he groaned, his thumb sweeping over the head, “when you touch yourself, what do you think of?”

“I think about you, Jorah.” Her body shivered, her hips moving against the chaise, her clit slipping between her fingers, the sensitive flesh flanked by her wiggling digits.

He was absolutely torn; Jorah couldn’t decide where to look. Finally seeing her doing _that,_ something he had imagined while he took care of himself the few times he had been away on business and couldn’t wait until he got back to her, made his balls tighten and a sharp bolt of pleasure shoot through his groin. Her face was a kaleidoscope of emotions and sensations, her body squirming slightly against the stark white cushion. Combined with the little sounds she was making, her voice breathy and sweet, Jorah knew this wouldn’t last as long as he had hoped it would.

His own voice was husky with desire, “And, in your mind, what am I doing to you?”

Her legs dropped open further, her hips raising her sex to her questing fingers, her sentence broken and soft, “Your face is buried,” she gasped, “between my legs,” a sigh, “your mouth and tongue all over my clit, your thick fingers thrusting into me.”

“Oh Sweetheart,” he groaned, his hand stroking his length, his index finger and thumb making a tight ring around his shaft, slipping over the head and bringing his liquid arousal back over the skin with it. “I love the slick feel of your sweetness on my tongue, your aching little pearl between my lips, and the wondrous throb of your pleasure around my fingers when you fall apart for me.”

She mewled at his words, two of her own digits now circling her hard nub. Watching Jorah pleasure himself was nothing like she imagined it would be. This was infinitely better: the flex of his muscles with each downward stroke, the movement of his body both erotic and graceful despite the masculinity of his actions. It struck her how in this intimate moment, he looked every bit the way a man should look: strong, powerful and yet absolutely beautiful. And the way his eyes moved over her made her feel natural and feminine. “The way you…make love to me…with your mouth…Gods, Jorah.”

Her voice, fragmented by sighs and soft moans, washed over him. Listening to how aroused he made her deepened his own pleasure. It always had, from the first time and every one since; he yearned to hear her sounds of satisfaction.

“Daenerys, I love to pleasure you that way.” His words were strained not only by effort, but by the intense passion he felt for her. “With one taste of you, I became a man obsessed.”

 “Jorah,” she gasped, the rise and fall of her breasts quickening as did the tempo of her fingers. Her body became restless and tiny drops of sweat dotted the flushed skin of her crinkled brow.

“Slow down, love,” her hooded eyes met his, “Follow the pace of my hand.”

Whimpering, her gaze dropped to his groin. She was transfixed and her movements nearly stopped all together. The head of his cock was darker than before, reddened by the rush of blood through the veins throbbing almost visibly just beneath the surface. The prominent one, along the right side she knew to be ultra-sensitive, he was paying extra attention to it, the pads of his fingers caressing it occasionally. His left hand drifted down between his legs to cup and fondle his sac, the tendons underneath the skin dancing as his fingers worked. Jorah’s hips began to move in rhythm with his strokes and she couldn’t help but think of how he made love to her, his hand now a poor substitute. His restraint was at its limit, the signs written all over his face and body. And she realized he saw the mirror of it in hers, for his hand sped up despite his amorous command to go slow.

                Jorah couldn’t wait any longer; his usual patience wearing thin. Roaming over her body, his eyes devoured the sight before him. But his perusal of her stopped dead at her sex, the sweet nectar that seeped from her had begun to gather into a small pool on the cushion, “I want to taste you so badly, Daenerys,” his jaw clenched, “Sweep my tongue over you…tease your clit…make you come…for me.”

                Moaning and unable to hold back, she matched his cadence. Her hips rocked under the quick flick of her fingers, his growling voice punctuated by gasping breaths that brought her to the edge of ecstasy.

                With each short thrust of his hips into his rapidly pumping fist, Jorah drew closer to his climax, “Close love? I’m gon-…come.”

                His broken grammar and deepening brogue meant his body was no longer under his control. Lust was its master now and he submitted completely to its impulses.

                Yes,” she panted, her fingers working double time on her clit. The familiar hot tingle deep in her center threatened to steal her vision, her eyelids drooping under the weight of tremendous pleasure. Desperate to see, she willed her eyes to remain open and swallowed to slake her parched throat. Her back bowed from the chaise, her wide gaze locked with his just before she started to tremble, “Jorah…come with me…here.”

Her soft pleading voice and the inviting arc of her body were the final pieces he needed. With one last jolting thrust of his hips, his tight fist stilled for an instant and she saw it through the haze of her peak, the faint swell of his cock a second before he moaned, “Fuck, love.”

                His release arced from the slit, painting the length of her belly in long pearlescent streams, each pulse following a hard jerk of his hand. The frenzy gone, his movement slowed, just like how he had started, his firm hold drawing the last of his seed from his still hard length. Even in this tropical paradise, Jorah at the height of his ecstasy was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. The flexed cords of muscle in his torso in stark relief beneath his taut tanned skin, his head tipped back in bliss, brow furrowed with eyes shut tight, and jaw slack to draw air deeply into his heaving chest. His essence, warm and thick on her skin, felt gratifyingly primal to her.

                He sighed deeply, easing his grip on his softening length. His expression, slightly dazed with a lazy satisfied grin, made her giggle softly. The dark lust that had been in his eyes was long gone; it was her gentle Jorah that gazed back at her once more.

                He moved to lay by her side on the cushion, his fingers caressing her sweat dampened skin between tender kisses, their bodies taking their time getting back to normalcy. To have Jorah pressed so close to her was exactly what she wanted in that moment; needy for the warmth and strength he exuded. His touch trailed down between her breasts and lower until he pulled his hand back suddenly. Confused by his reaction, she watched him prop himself up on his elbow. With a mix of fascinated curiosity and mild aversion, he stared at her belly. Reaching out, he tentatively brushed the tip of his index finger through the evidence of his completion. Turning his hand back and forth in the light, he studied the sheen on his skin as a scientist might observe a strange being.

                “You wanted me to do _this_ to you? You wanted _this_ on your body,” Jorah queried, disbelief in his voice.

                “Jorah,” she intoned softly, “What we do intimately is beautiful. Your body fascinates me. _Every_ _part of it_. Why should _that_ be any different?”

                The tilt of her chin toward his hand spoke volumes: she wanted _all_ of him.

                Her next question probed further, “You’ve never done this for someone before, have you?”

                “I did, actually. But she didn’t want me to do _this_ to her.” He held up his hand as he finished his sentence.

                “She really told you not to do it?”

“Yes, quite adamantly in fact.”

Daenerys thought for a moment, then asked, “How did you feel about that?”

Her phrasing made him smile, “Are you my therapist now too?”

She smacked his arm playfully and arched an eyebrow.

“I felt,” Jorah paused, “like she only wanted part of me.”

The gravity of his statement dawned on him: _Daenerys just said every part of him fascinated her._

The glow of utter acceptance lit her eyes and a broad smile broke slowly across his face as he looked down at her. Everything else faded away, only her glittering violet orbs remained. He was falling endlessly into their depths and he hoped a kiss would be enough to convey his heart to her. It was languid and sweet; the hand cupping his cheek was brimming with the same tenderness. He broke the kiss with a brush of his nose against hers.

“This,” she gestured to her belly, “bothers you, doesn’t it?”

His eyes followed her hand, “I don’t know, I just...I don’t want to degrade you. You’re not an object. You are the woman I love.”

“You’re not demeaning me by doing that,” she asserted, shaking her head slowly, “Besides, I asked you to do it. It would only be demeaning if you did it without my permission or somewhere on my body I didn’t want you to.”

“I would _never_ do that to you,” he knew what she was referring to without her having to say it, “No matter if you asked me to do it or not.”

“You’re in luck then, because I never will. That’s just…disgusting,” she grimaced.

“I’m glad you agree,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead, “I’ll be right back.”

She watched him walk into their cottage, stretching while she waited for him to return. A few moments later, he emerged with a damp face cloth in his hand. He sat at her side and gently cleaned himself from her skin, the warmth of it making her sigh. Folding it over, he set it on the small table beside them and curled up with her.

“How does a nap sound? We have a while yet before dinner.”

“Wonderful,” she breathed, sweet lassitude enfolding her.

The only thing he had around to cover them with was the large beach towel folded above her head. Drawing it over as much of their tangled limps as he could, he finally settled into her embrace, and before long, they had both drifted off to sleep.


End file.
